Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

[it’s real when they say it]

The show begins. It’s ready. You sit to watch the audience. Now you can clap.

“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”

Use lipstick

to make people like you

CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.

a type of speech

MINUTIAE

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

[it’s real when they say it]

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.

“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free

The show begins. It’s ready. You sit to watch the audience. Now you can clap.

Use lipstick

to make people like you

CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.

a type of speech

MINUTIAE

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

Still have the scar from that bubble on the back of your wrist.

Simple: naïve / milkweed / that which only seeks to tend its own garden / look at him all cool as a cucumber, and what have you gotten yourself into, little creature? ​

You’ll remember white—for example—Mari’s favorite.
As for Lalo, the glimpse of tiny flowers.

Without a wardrobe now,
You abandon that and all your other diplomas
backstage.

[it’s real when they say it]

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”

Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.

“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free

Use lipstick

to make people like you

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.

Still have the scar from that bubble on the back of your wrist.

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

Without a wardrobe now,
You abandon that and all your other diplomas
backstage.

The show begins. It’s ready. You sit to watch the audience. Now you can clap.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

Simple: naïve / milkweed / that which only seeks to tend its own garden / look at him all cool as a cucumber, and what have you gotten yourself into, little creature? ​

You’ll remember white—for example—Mari’s favorite.
As for Lalo, the glimpse of tiny flowers.

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

[it’s real when they say it]

“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”

Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.

“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”

Use lipstick

to make people like you

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

[it’s real when they say it]

“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”

Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.

“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

The show begins. It’s ready. You sit to watch the audience. Now you can clap.

Use lipstick

to make people like you

You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.

[it’s real when they say it]

Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

“he’s not home”
“do you know where he went?”
“to herd none of his sheep”

Use lipstick

to make people like you

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

returning to the garden in the evening
shouting ready or not
and waiting twenty years to say
olly olly oxen free

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.

You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.

Sara Camhaji

visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.

This site is part of the project "DON´T TAKE PHOTOS OF THE LANDSCAPE; TAKE PORTRAITS WITH THE VIEW OF THE BACKGROUND IF YOU LIKE", whose creative object revolves around the phenomenon of memory and its conceptual visualization. Thus, Sara explores the different languages on which the mind reloads its truth and the way it constructs our inner world.
About
SARA CAMHAJI (Mexico City, 1986) is a writer, teacher, and mother. Her work is a natural response to her lived experience and the emotional dimensions she has inhabited. She has told and written stories for her entire life. Poetry—the axis of her exploration—has prompted her to develop new discursive forms in close contact with inner human reality; wrenching, they open themselves to embodiment and appropriation. She has a master’s in creative writing, two children, and two published works: Maleza (Alboroto Ediciones, 2022) and this one. A selection of her poems appeared in the UNAM’s Periódico de Poesía. She received a grant from Asylum Arts in 2017 and was awarded the Peleh Fund arts residency in Berkeley, California, for 2023. Narrated poetry or poetic narrative? Sara writes in the voice of an archive with a voice of its own, like a thinking time machine, or from the dark sincerity of she-who-didn’t-know-she-had-to-live.
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